“Hey, that was supposed to be rye.”
He was right. I’d read him as bourbon when he sat. Missed the correction when he changed his mind.
“Yeah,” I said, taking it back before he could touch it. “That’s on me.”
I dumped it, rebuilt clean, and slid the fresh glass into place without breaking pace anywhere else on the bar.
He took a sip, nodded once, and went back to his conversation as if it had never happened. I moved on.
When I came back down the rail, Pratt was watching me. Tracking.
Our eyes met, and he didn't look away.
Twenty minutes later, company arrived. Heath and Kieran settled in beside Pratt.
I came down when the tickets gave me cover. "Heath. Kieran."
Heath's face brightened immediately. "Yeah."
"Guys from the condo a few days back."
"That would be us."
I made educated guesses and set a glass down for each of them. Heath looked at his skeptically. Kieran just drank.
"You guys have a regular?" I asked.
"Northbound," Kieran said.
I knew the place well. It had a big tank with a big fish. The free-pour situation had gotten me into trouble twice, once intentionally. "Good fish," I said. "Aggressive bartender."
Heath laughed, short, real, surprised.
"So, what brings you here?"
"He mentioned the place," Heath said.
I looked at Pratt. He was staring at the bar.
"Just the place?" I asked Heath.
"Only the place." He smiled. It had an agenda.
I looked at Pratt one more time. "Good call on your part." I went to handle two customers trying to flag me down.
Halfway down the rail, a guy in a quarter-zip stood.
"Oh, holy—" He yanked his phone out of his pocket. "Is that—hey, that's—"
Two people beside him turned to look.
I was out from behind the bar and in the sightline before he finished. It wasn't confrontational, but he couldn't ignore me.
"Hey. Another round, or are you closing out?"
He blinked. "I was just—those guys—"
"Sure." I steered him back onto his stool and came around behind the bar. Pushed a napkin in front of him. "What were you drinking?"
